Nasty Expendable Waste of Time
by Qualyn
Summary: On the first Christmas Eve after the Battle of Hogwarts a chance meeting, a lie, and a life-changing decison will change fates, and maybe, who knows, make them intertwine. Pre-slash johnlock. Potterlock.
1. Prologue

**_A.N.: _**This short story is the prequel to a longer, multi-chaptered fic.

Once again, from a prompt from the Johnlock Gift Exchange in Tumblr. This prompt was : _"Kissing in Secret at Christmas_" by sir-doctor-dame-rose.

**Warnings: **I decided to keep their age difference (8 years), so even though Sherlock is a teen, John is not. Thus, it is Underage.

**Not beta-ed!**

* * *

**_crack_**

A sharp sound broke the silence that enveloped the village.

Soft snow crunched under hard dragon hide boots as a pair of feet rounded the corner where the Apparition Point was and walked towards the village's main street.

It was Christmas Eve, mid-afternoon. Night was only now starting to take over the bleak daylight but still, there was no soul on the streets. And no sound other than the rustle of pale green robes and the soft crunching of snow beneath his boots.

Despite the villagers best efforts there were still some visible scars from the war. And there always would be.

The new windows didn't quite match the buildings they were inserted to. Second storeys were painted in the same colours as the floor beneath, but the paint was still too new, not worn out enough by the elements and time itself. Some houses were painfully empty. The cemetery was bigger.

The Battle of Hogwarts had happened almost 8 months ago but people were still wary. There were still rogue Death Eaters at large. There were still people missing. It was all still too fresh.

As it was, people seemed to go in a hurry from the safety their houses provided to their destination. And so, even in Diagon Alley, you'd barely see people wandering about. No, there was no doubt about it.

Hogsmeade would never be the same. Many other places in the Wizarding World would never be the same.

Almost everyone in the Wizarding World would never be the same.

His fist clenched in anger. He had been practically useless. There had been so much he could have done, he could have helped so much more, he-

Deep breaths.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He shook his head, as if trying to shake those thoughts that continued to plague him even after all this months, and was momentarily surprised as he watched, by the corner of his eyes that a bit of snow had fallen from his hair.

He hadn't even noticed it had started snowing again.

He started walking faster. He could see the Inn now. His robes weren't made to be worn in the cold and harsh Scottish winter and the thought of the warmth that awaited him only made him want to go faster.

Just as the snow started falling harder he reached the door. With a smile, remembering his school days from years ago, he fondly looked up at the sign, pushed the heavy wooden door, and entered The Three Broomsticks.

* * *

The sudden temperature difference startled him, as well as the amount of noise.

Bloody hell, the place was packed.

He shook as much snow from his head and shoulders and walked, still a bit stiffly from the cold, to the counter.

He managed to squeeze himself between a couple of patrons and since there wasn't no one serving in the counter, he turned on the spot and looked around.

If one didn't know what had transpired, you could think there was nothing wrong. Christmas decorations were everywhere, a huge Christmas tree stood by one of the corners near a window, and in the stairs that led to upstairs to the room, were a group of teenagers singing carols.

It seemed everyone had been doing some late shopping. Almost every table had at least a bag full of wrapped packages and some were in quite a hurry, waiting impatiently in the line to the fireplace so they could Floo, probably, home.

He spotted some waiters walking between tables, taking orders with their Quick-Quote Quills.

Just as he was about to move and look for any available seat he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and met the sparkling green eyes of Madam Rosmerta.

"John Watson, I'll be damned! – she exclaimed – About time you come to visit, don't you think?"

He was smiling at the woman behind the counter before he could help himself, and while pointing to his pale green robes he said: "I'm afraid I've been quite busy."

Her eyes widened, and not a second later, a wide smile bloomed.

"Healer! Ah, I knew it! Healer Watson, doesn't that have a nice ring to it?" – she playfully asked with a wink.

"I guess it does." – he agreed with a wink of his own.- "But I'm afraid that I've just got to the bottom of the ladder." Not for long though.

"You have to start somewhere, don't you? Here, on the house, what will it be?"

"Oh no, please, Madam –"

"Oh hush with the Madam, you're not on Hogwarts anymore, no need to call me that. Rosmerta is enough. Now, what will it be?"

"Alright, - he sighed. He guessed he kind of owed that to her. She always kept saying he'd end up a Healer, even when he wasn't so sure himself. – "Just a Butterbeer then. I'll have to Apparate and plus, there's no seat in any table and I don't fancy eating in the counter."

"Butterbeer, uh? A bit of nostalgia there?"- she asked as she moved to get his order. She could always read right through him, he had to give her that.

"Oh alright, yes, a bit."

Laughing she handed him his drink and pointed to the Christmas tree.

"Go over there, there's a table for two behind the tree. I don't think anyone's there. I'll send something for you in a bit."

Shaking his head he thanked her once again, picked his Butterbeer and started to move.

As he came closer to the tree he saw an empty chair and thought that after all, he'd have someplace to sit. But as he rounded the tree he stopped in his tracks.

There was someone else there already.


	2. That damn fairy

**A.N.:** This is the final part of this prequel.

I hope you'll enjoy it and, hopefully, get curious about what's coming next!

**Not beta-ed**

* * *

_Damn it!_

The table was occupied. There, on the chair that was pushed against the corner, sat the most peculiar man he'd ever seen. And after everything he had seen so far, that was saying something.

He looked younger than John, but surely not by much. He was looking out of the window and didn't seem to have noticed the awkward Healer stating a few feet away, still deciding whether he'd ask if he could sit or not.

There was just something off about him.

His stomach made the decision for him as it gave a particularly loud grumble and John, embarrassed despite himself, thought that he was hungry, wanted to eat whatever Madam Rosmerta would give him and that he was a grown man, thank you very much, and could ask another man if he could share a table.

"Excuse me, - he said as he moved towards the vacant chair, - this is the only seat available, would you mind if I sit here?"

Just as his unoccupied hand touched the chair in question, the man's gaze snapped to him and John froze.

His face looked like no other, a bit alien-ish as his sister would say. It was long, the most ridiculous cheekbones he'd seen and the most amazing eyes. Their shape seemed off too for some reason, but it was the colour and the gaze that made him stop on his tracks. It made him uncomfortable.

"Can I –"

The stranger waved a hand in such an imperial gesture that John was torn between amusement and annoyance. Annoyance won when he realised the man was clearly a pureblood. His traditionally cut robes and posture should have said it all, but it was his behaviour that brought John memories from his times at Hogwarts.

Could he tell we was a Muggleborn just by glancing at him?

John scoffed.

Of course he couldn't. He probably just thought he was better than everyone.

He purposely dragged the chair on the floor as he pushed it back.

Bit childish, he knew, but he didn't care now. He had a bad day. Hell, bad weeks. Bad** months**. And on top of that, the most important decision of his life in his pocket.

"I have done nothing and still, you already hate me."

John jumped a bit, surprised by the deep voice that came from across the table. The man was leaning on his chair and looking straight at him now.

Well, how could he was using his bad mood as an excuse to be prejudiced against someone he didn't even _know_ in his own head?

He cleared his throat.

"Sorry, bad day."

There.

His Majesty only raised an eyebrow.

"Treating me like a peasant just because you're a pureblood didn't help."

He raised both eyebrows. He seemed intrigued now.

"And how do you know I'm a pureblood?"- he asked as he leaned forward.

John felt even more uncomfortable now. He didn't mean to say it out loud, that had been rude. What if he wasn't a pureblood? Well, even if he was, he liked to think himself better than that.

But His Royal Highness seemed to be getting impatient and so John thought that he might as well comply to His wishes.

"Well, there were a lot of purebloods during my years at Hogwarts. And I guess the way acted just reminded me of them." – he shrugged his shoulders and cupped his hands around his Butterbeer mug. His couldn't keep eye contact for long, that gaze was unnerving. He looked at what he could see of the rest of the room from his seat to try to relax a bit.

"How did I act?"

His voice sounded closer, and when John looked back at him he saw His Majesty was now leaning even closer and had his palms pressed together under his chin. Dear God, he looked _interested_. In the bad, mad scientist kind of way.

He didn't feel at ease around this guy but he had been through much worse situations.

Like Battle Healers telling him, looking at him in the eye, that we was a little Healer Apprentice, to go back to the hospital and do your job helping those who know how to do things.

"Your posture mainly. Your robes. Your hand wave as if you were doing me a favour by letting me near your presence."

He had almost called him His Highness there. Control yourself.

Deep breaths.

"Aren't I ?"

"What?"

"Doing you a favour by letting you sit there?"

John cursed under his breath. Damn, of course he was. And he had done nothing to him. It was John that was discharging at him.

"Yes, - he sighed, - Yes, you are. Of course. I'm sorry, it's just-"

"Bad day." – He said, leaning back again,

John shot him a small smile and drank some more of his forgotten beer.

He put his mug down, and decided he might as well ask His Highness what is name was. He couldn't keep calling him that in his mind, he knew he'd end up slipping and calling him that out loud before his snack was over.

Just as he opened his mouth to ask a plate of shepherd pie landed in front of him, his cutlery and for some god damned reason, a tree fairy that was playing lyre and had a handful of mistletoe whilst glowing in a soft and intimate light.

He turned to thank the waitress, at the same time raising his eyebrows and nodding at the candle questionably.

She smiled and said. "It's Christmas Eve and you're on a date, secluded behind the tree."- she winked and started walking away, raising her voice as to be heard,- "You were really just missing the appropriate light and the mistletoe!"

He looked incredulously back at Him, who surprisingly, was looking amused at the whole thing.

He supposed that if she saw them staring at each other she might have got the wrong idea. She definitely got the wrong idea.

Thinking a change of topic was in need, John, after asking Him if He wanted a slice knowing well he wouldn't – he saw him twisting his nose at it – asked: "So, what are you doing here on Christmas Eve all alone?."

He was looking out the window again, his dark robes a sharp contrast to his skin. He couldn't even tell which colour they were, to be honest.

"Same as you I suppose."

John scoffed. Oh he doubted that. He doubted that, _very much_.

"You don't think so."

"No, I don't."

"Why?"

"None of your business. You didn't answer me."

"None of your business."

They were glaring at each other and suddenly the tense moment was broken by someone's outrageous loud laughter close by.

Despite themselves they both found themselves smiling at the ridiculous sound, both relaxing once again. John continued eating, mentally giving his thanks to Madam Rosmerta and watching with amusement the fairy's increasingly frustrated expression. They weren't acting like a couple at all. Poor thing probably felt useless.

Indignation and anger welled up one him. He continued eating, but viciously now, as if the poor shepherd pie had done something horrible to him.

"You're a Healer."

"Astounding observation."

His Majesty once again raised an eyebrow.

"Oh come on, lime green robes with a bone and a wand crossed. That's the uniform, everyone knows it!"

"I didn't."

John stopped eating. How could he not know?

"It's difficult to be accepted in the program."

"Very. In the very least you need an Exceed Expectations at Potions, Herbology, Charm, DADA and, - he was counting on his fingers – ah yes, Transfiguration."  
"In the N.E.W.T.s ?"

"Yes. Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test indeed."

"More like Nasty Expendable Waste of Time."

John laughed outright. Well look at that, there's humour beneath the ice.

It was a sharp and short laugh though. Suddenly he felt much older than his 25 years.

"You know what? I'm beginning to think you're right about that."

Now, He certainly wasn't expecting that. He had been poised as if expecting an argument. Not unexpected of course, people usually defend their life choices. He did try not to appear interested. "Oh?"

John shoved his hands on his pockets. One of his hands touched a small object, and as he thought about what he'd say, he kept touching it.

"I'll say this to you because I don't know you, have never seen you before and will most probably never see again."

"You're resigning."

John could only gape like a fish out of water at him. Who _was_ this guy?

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, for starters the way you-"

"Okay, okay!" – he slid down his chair a bit, now wishing that his Butterbeer actually had a decent amount of alcohol.-"Nevermind that. You're right though, I'm leaving."

"Quitting or leaving?"- he was once again in that pose that almost made him look as if he was praying. He was staring right at John, but this time the Healer returned it.

"Quitting for sure. Leaving, maybe."- he caressed the small object, then holding it in his hand, closing his fingers around it. So small, but it would change his life. "I don't expect to be praised like some genius, but recognition, and respect in the very least, I demand. Becoming a Healer was a hard decision to make, after that, a hard goal to accomplish, and now? Now that I've done it? It wasn't worth it."

"Surely you didn't think so during the War."- he asked, seeming now more and more less of a monarch and looking simply as a curious young man. He seemed captivated by John's tale.

"That's where I began to, actually."- his tone of voice was hard, leaving no doubt that he wouldn't talk about that period of his life.

"I came with my brother. He had some matters to take care of."

Surprised by the abrupt topic change John, nonetheless, went along with it:

"In the village? I thought every business would be close for the holiday by now."

"No…Hogwarts."

"Ah."- John said as he stared hard at him.

His Majesty had crossed his arms and was once again looking at him life the lord of all but now he could see that he wasn't comfortable. "What?"- he snapped.

"I'm trying to remember if I ever saw you there."

"In Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"You wouldn't."

Now intrigued John was the one to lean forward. "Oh, you didn't go to Hogwarts? I thought every wizard in Britain had to go there."

"I don't live here."

John was completely intrigued now. That answer had come far too fast.

"Ah, I see."

"No, you don't."

The air between them seemed to be starting to become tense once again, and not really wanting to make things more complicated than they should, he pushed his chair back, preparing to stand and take his leave.

"Well, thank you for hummpf!" – suddenly John found himself in the new, and hopefully, last situation of having his mouth spelled shut.

Engrossed in their conversations both men had not noticed how increasingly frustrated the poor tree fairy had become. It had spelled John's mouth shut because he was the one talking the most, after that, it enchanted the mistletoe.

It flew right over John's head, and was constantly dropping down, hitting him over and over again.

_What the bloody fuck!_

John tended to curse when he was angry, bad habit, he knew. But this was ridiculous. He couldn't speak, was being constantly hit by mistletoe and His Highness just sat here staring and gaping at him like a dolt!

Oh.

Oh no.

Mistletoe. Mouth shut. Date.

Nononononono

Suddenly his eyes focused on something behind him and he stood up, all blank face and straight back, tall and imposing. Impossibly tall.

"I have to go."

John's eyes widened in panic. He moved forward and grabbed his arms, only being able to make muffled sounds and still had that damned thing hitting his head.

His Royal Pain grabbed his forearms back and sort of waltzed them, turning them around so that John was in the spot hidden by the tree and he was closer to the rest of the pub. He let go of his arms and walked to the edge of the tree, peering as if looking for someone. He probably was.

He seemed to relax, maybe didn't see whoever he didn't want to see. He turned his head to look at John and the idiot was actually smiling.

Just as John moved forward to make him try to understand that if he cast a simple Finite Incantatem this would all be over.

But he probably saw whoever it was again, because he turned quickly and crowded John against the wall.

"I have to go. Now."

John shook his head. It was starting to hurt.

"What should I do?" – the other man asked, his voice unusually subdued.

John took his wand from his pocket and did the wand movement for the spell, but Sherlock didn't even look at it. What he said after didn't make John feel very confident either. "Oh, I know. Of course. Tradition."

John barely had the time to think "_What_" before his mind went blank from shock. The bloke was kissing him!

* * *

It was without a doubt one of the most surreal experiences, as far as personal and intimate things go, but it was over in a flash. The guy just pulled away as if he had been burned, and his face sure looked like it. Being so pale surely didn't help the poor guy, his cheeks were flaming and he didn't look John in the eye. He was the complete opposite of the arrogant arse that waved him off like he was his Sire.

John himself was still completely dumbstruck, as he was still trying to connect the phantom feeling of pressure on his lips to the man in front of him. So it was completely understandable that it took him quite a few more seconds than he was proud of to realise that he was gaping, thus the spell was off, and that there was no mistletoe banging on his head.

He tried to compose himself, unwillingly mimicking the man across him, that was almost compulsively straightening his robes and checking his hair.

_Oh for Merlin's sake, it wasn't as if they had been snogging!_

The silence was getting more awkward than the situation itself so John said: "Thank. I mean, thank you. For that. You know, disabling the spell. Thanks." – he hadn't expected to stutter like a teenager after his first kiss. But in a way, it had been. It was the first time he kissed another man. Okay no, was kissed by another man. He remembered that he didn't even know his name.

"What's your name?" – _wait, that wasn't me_, thought John. He looked up and the other man was completely controlled once more. _How does he do that?_.

"John. John Watson. And you?"

"You said you were probably leaving. So that means leaving this world, the Wizarding World. You're going to live like a Muggle, not difficult since you are Muggle born and you probably consider that world as "home". You're giving up being a Healer, not because of the career itself but because of the people who surround you. So you'll want to continue working in that particular field, you want to be a…doctor." – the man, the stranger really, completely ignoring John's question, proceeded to catch him by surprise yet again, leaving him once again like an idiot.

"You said that the most probable thing to happen is for us to never meet again, but John, it is a mistake to theorise without all the facts."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

* * *

"Yes. Yes! I'll be there at 5, I promise! Okay, see you tomorrow Mum. Love you."

He set the mobile phone on his bedside table and promptly threw himself to the bed. It had been an extremely bad, weird and interesting day. His room was dark but for the light from the street lamps outside his window.

As he lay there, John Watson thought about the last words that strange man told him. What did he mean by that?

_Doesn't matter, I have an important letter to send._

He got up, not caring about his wrinkled Healer robes, he wasn't going to wear them anymore, and put a hand in one of his pocket.

From there he withdrew the small object he had been touching almost compulsively to reassure himself that it was still there. No one but the person who gave it to him and some very important wizards could know he had one.

He sat on his desk, put the small, shiny thing there as well but in a place it wouldn't bother him, and after getting his best parchment and quill, set off to write the most important letter of his life.

He had made his decision.

He deserved better. He didn't belong here. Not even in Hogwarts he had felt completely at ease.

He was going to leave.

He was going to forge his own path, no pressures but his own goals. He could return if he wanted to, but that wasn't on his plans, at least not for now.

He could only think how lucky he was to have this chance.

It seemed all the extra weight he carried on his shoulders had disappeared. He smiled and started writing his final letter to the Head Healer in .

It was time for a new beginning.

And in the yellow light, the Time Turner shone.

* * *

"Bit different from my day."

"Oh, you have no idea."

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal in mine."


End file.
